


Adoration

by ProfessorFlimflam



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/F, sexual awakening, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlimflam/pseuds/ProfessorFlimflam
Summary: Serena Campbell had never taken half as much pleasure in anyone else’s body as she had in her own. But being with Bernie was so very different.





	1. Adoration

Serena Campbell gloried in her body. She rejoiced in the things it could do for her; revelled in her own luscious curves and the generosity of firm flesh and soft skin.

Truth be told, she had never taken half as much pleasure in anyone else’s body as she had in her own. That wasn’t to say that her lovers hadn’t been… satisfactory. _Au contraire_ , she had been with men who had very specific talents in that area, and what an eclectic range of skills they had displayed over the years. Edward had his faults, but lack of stamina wasn’t one of them; the charming young Canadian she had met at, oh, wherever it had been, had clearly spent his youth (his _earlier_ youth - he was barely out of short trousers) practising on ice creams and lollipops. And Robbie - well, dull as dishwater he may have been, but goodness, wasn't he a big boy. Suffice to say that she wasn’t the only person who worshipped her body. Whether they were a breast, arse or thigh man, she really did have something for everyone, and her lovers had never been anything less than grateful - pathetically so, sometimes.

And she was by no means a selfish lover in return. She loved the power she had over a partner: not the power of a dominatrix, though it wasn’t that it hadn’t occurred to her how very marvellously she could carry off that particular role - she had simply never needed to dominate with anything other than her own charisma and her frankly magnificent body. Her power lay in the overwhelming desire her lovers had shown for her, their desperation to please her, both in terms of approval and in other, baser ways. And she relished the effect she had on them, too. The unmistakeable evidence of male arousal; the sounds she could elicit from a needy partner, and if they were a talker, so much the better - she loved to hear what she was doing to a man, the filthier the better, despite her best feminist credentials.

Yes, sex for Serena was a very gratifying business, with her body and her needs firmly centre stage. So it was with astonishment that she discovered the utter joy in loving Berenice Wolfe and exploring her body, so different from her own, but so very, very splendid. Bernie was lean where Serena was lush; taut where she was soft; muscled where she was yielding. But so different from a man’s body, too: silky skin, that gorgeous hair, as many curves as angles, and so decidedly feminine despite her swagger. Bernie’s body was an anatomy demonstration in its own right, so clearly defined were the muscles and tendons; the veins of her arms and hands prominent but not bulging, the length of bone lending her frame grace and elegance where it might have been gawky, awkward. Bernie no longer had the more bulky musculature she had developed in the army, but rather than softening to flab, her muscles had lengthened and toned, giving her the willowy figure Serena had admired privately, and now enjoyed openly.

But it was not just Bernie’s body that was so different for Serena. Everything about loving her was different, from the new angles and sensations she learned, to the strange familiarity of loving a body both so like and unlike her own. The greatest difference of all was the new desperation she felt to please someone else with barely a thought for her own pleasure. Previously, to hear grunts and muttered words had made her feel powerful, desired, triumphant. But now, to elicit those sounds from the mouth and throat of Bernie Wolfe had become an overwhelming need: not to reward herself, but to reassure herself that she was bringing the woman she loved the pleasure and satisfaction she longed to give her. And to hear her name - oh, to hear her own name in that quiet, deep voice, straining through ragged breathing. As often as not, when Bernie cried or whispered her name, the syllables were swallowed by a gasp, or a moan, or a strangled cry, so that only a sibilant _Ser_ … could be heard. But that was enough for her to know that she was bringing joy to the woman in her arms.

Sometimes Serena named the muscles as she kissed her way along them, marvelling at the softness of skin and fine, downy hair. A love song in Latin, Bernie called it. At other times, all she could say was Bernie’s name, over and over, whispered in prayer, cried aloud in supplication, a mantra to keep her grounded as she lost her way in Bernie’s body. Her body was not quite as Serena had expected, for while Bernie’s usual skin tight jeans had left little to the imagination, her androgynous shirts had hidden a figure that was anything but. Breasts smaller than her own, but high, still, and full and firm, and so very responsive to touch, and almost-touch, and withheld touch. Serena took delight in splaying her fingers across Bernie’s ribcage, fascinated by the way her handspan encompassed her slim frame, the dip of her waist. Her belly was so very soft and, while Serena had known that Bernie would bear the scars of motherhood and military service, she was brought almost to tears by the tenderness invoked in her by a freckle just below her navel, which she kissed again and again. Her tongue couldn't resist dipping into the hollow there, and she discovered a sensitivity which brought Bernie close to the brink.

And to touch Bernie Wolfe in the most intimate of ways, between those splendid thighs, was a revelation. No brusque pelvic examination had prepared her for this feeling of warmth, of _welcome_ , of rightness. To feel her fingers slip inside her, to watch in disbelief as they disappeared again and again into the other woman’s body, was to feel that she had been granted the holiest of gifts. And when at last she lowered her head and tasted Bernie, she wept for the joy of it. She had always loved to taste herself in a lover’s kiss, but to kiss her woman there, to feel her pulse through her lips and tongue, to taste her so wholly, was to feel the very heart of her, and to seal something between them.

Serena had spent a lifetime being worshipped, but it was only now that she learned the pure joy of giving herself over to the needs of another, in the adoration of Bernie Wolfe.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She thought for the longest time that she was broken, faulty. But in her fiftieth year, in the deserts of Afghanistan, she realised at last why no man had ever excited or moved her. A fire so fierce was always going to burn too brightly, too quickly, but somewhere between friendship and passion, there might be another way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's not all about Serena, is it? The first chapter was meant to be the whole story, but I couldn't stop thinking about what being adored might mean to Bernie, and this is what happened.
> 
> Offered in response to Berena Appreciation Week, day 5. The prompt is "smut" - I'm not sure this qualifies, but hey, there's another chapter to go...

Before marriage, sex had been an unpleasantness to be avoided or endured, and later with Marcus, an obligation to be fulfilled. It was a small thing, really, an ever less frequent occurrence that kept her best friend happy and provided her with two much loved children.

There were women who enjoyed sex, she knew, though it remained a mystery to her. She didn’t know whether she was simply not built for it, or if was something hardwired in her brain that prevented a connection between the emotional and the physical. No amount of careful wooing, no candlelit dinner, no soft music or gentle caresses - and goodness knows Marcus (dear, sweet, patient Marcus) was so very gentle - ever really got her in the mood, though she tried - oh, how she tried - and she tried as well never to let Marcus see how little she cared for his attentions in the bedroom.

Oh, the mechanics were there: sex with her solicitous husband was never painful, and from what she understood, no more uncomfortable than many women found it, and she could find release of a sort at her own hand. She thought for a long time that she was broken, that was somehow wrong and at fault, until, idly leafing through a a magazine, she read an article which made her consider for the first time that she might be asexual: not broken, just different. Awkward in so many ways, perhaps this was just one more facet of her that didn’t quite fit in the world.

She knew that she was attractive in her own way, that people found her beautiful, and she could appreciate beauty in others. The pleasure she took in her own body came from its ability to work: to run for twenty miles, a sixty pound pack on her back; to carry a wounded comrade; to bear children. She loved the feeling of the sun on her skin; the taste of good food and drink; the sound of bird song, music, laughter.

In her fiftieth year, in the deserts of Afghanistan, with the sun on her back, the taste of spiced food on her tongue and the cry of a black-shouldered kite in her ears, she realised at last why no man had ever excited or moved her, and the tempestuous affair with Alex Dawson unleashed a hunger in her that she had never known was there. Her need was all for the younger woman, not for her own pleasure, and she batted away her hand when it sought to touch her, pulled her up her body and rolled them over when Alex brought her head down as though she would taste her.

Her need to touch, to take, to possess Alex overrode her marriage vows, her professionalism and her belief in her own frigidity. Their every encounter was charged with the danger of discovery, with her own residual shame, and tainted with an anger that it had taken her so long to discover herself and what she needed: the fire was so fierce that it was always going to burn too brightly, too quickly. The IED that destroyed their vehicle sounded the death knell for their relationship, too, and back in England, though she craved that connection with Alex, they both knew that it had run its course, and it was Alex who found the strength and honesty to walk away.

Her army career over, her lover gone, and her family united against her, she was at her most broken. She believed now that she must settle for her new role at work, and the nascent friendships she had made there, but it was her son, wounded both physically and by the bitterness between his warring parents, who opened her eyes to what might lie before her. Her marriage may have been little more than a friendship, her affair the fevered fulfilment of physical desire, but she could see now that somewhere between friendship and passion, there might be another way.

Bernie Wolfe was ready to be loved.


	3. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no more questions, no more hesitations: only this moment, the two of them together.

For all that Marcus had loved her - and she had no doubt that he had - it had always felt as though he was taking something from her: something of herself, her inner self that she guarded so fiercely. She had never understood how he could bear to be so open with her, hiding nothing, showing her all his weakness and vulnerability. She had pitied him a little, despised him, even. She couldn’t fathom being as dependent on another person as he seemed to be on her. And yet, here she is now, laid bare in every sense before Serena Campbell, the woman from whom she had hidden so much for so long.

Somehow, and she doesn’t understand how it can be so, but when Serena touches her, it feels as though she is giving, not taking. With Marcus, it had felt as though he was trying to make her a part of himself: there had been a sense of transaction, a necessary fee required for the continuation of their easy companionship, but Serena gives and gives and gives, and for the first time in her life, Bernie is ready to receive this tremendous gift.

In the wide tundra that has been her emotional life, she seeks Serena out like a life-giving fire, and warms herself at her hearth. She discovers now that she is not the cold blooded thing she always believed herself to be, but a sun-loving creature coming out of years of hibernation, turning her face to the glow of Serena’s lovingkindness. She terrifies herself with her need for the other woman’s adoration: she, who has always maintained a distance apart from lovers, finds that she craves every kind of nearness, of intimacy, with the other woman. She fears that she will be too much for her, she feels as though all the need that has been trapped inside her for her entire life is all spilling out in search of Serena’s approval. Thirty-odd years’ worth of love is all pouring out of her to focus on this woman, this moment, _now_.

 

_Take me, take everything, take every last bit of me._

 

She doesn’t know if she has spoken out loud, but Serena has heard her, has understood her need to surrender, and she responds with the same hunger. Her hands are everywhere, and Bernie understands suddenly that she cannot be too much for Serena, for her need is matched by Serena’s own for her. Her own hands are upon Serena’s skin, sliding across, between, inside. She couldn’t describe just what they are doing, what forms their lovemaking takes: their bodies moving together, in and out of rhythm, now synchronised, now fumbling. Her whole world is sensations, her body translating Serena's touch into a new language, utterly unrelated to anything she had tried, and failed, to understand before. There are no words needed here - no words possible to frame what is between them in this moment.

 

Serena doesn’t know how to describe this, either. How does she know so unerringly what to do, how to make love to this woman? How can it be that she who was so thrown and anxious on recognising her feelings for Bernie - for _Bernie!_ \- knows just how to touch her, how to reach this strange, prickly creature who keeps the world at arm’s length? She, who has never been more than friends with a woman, who is _frankly terrified_ , who _wishes she were dead_ \- how has that bewildered, fearful woman found her way into the arms of this new and so very unexpected lover, and found herself touching her just so, just right, just - _oh, just there_ \- and oh, Lord, how will she ever stop?

What is it about Bernie, she wonders, that has wrought this change in her? Even as she coaxes the pleasure from Bernie’s trembling body, she is beginning again, easing down her body to nuzzle at her belly, her thighs, breathing her in and sighing against her heated flesh. Until now, she has never been able to have her fill of being worshipped, has known that she has deserved every adulation thrown at her by her lovers, but with Bernie, there is nothing _but_ Bernie. She could spend all night doing this, could spend all her life doing this.

She thinks that perhaps she has never loved before. She has been married, had a child, taken lovers. She has shared her body with others, had her every lust satisfied, but she has never before felt this _want_ , this need to give, to pour everything into their loving. She is so aroused, but fulfilling her own desire has never seemed less important to her: since the moment she saw Bernie’s eyes darken, her chest flush, she has been able to think of nothing else.

Serena barely notices that she is coming: Bernie’s pleasure and release is all she can take in. They are both breathless, spent: utterly exhausted and perfectly content. It is hours since either of them has uttered a coherent word, and perhaps they will never need to again. They finally understand each other, and this thing that is between them, this wonderful, fearful secret, blossoms gloriously in the light of their new knowing.

 

No more questions now, no more doubts: only perfect certainty.


End file.
